Phillip Pip Pirrup, the Prostitute
by Silver Bones in a Green Sauce
Summary: Being almost of age, Pip is forced to get the only job he can find; prostitution. With one client claiming to love him, another boy trying to save him, and an old friend showing up, things get complicated. All the poor Brit wants is to make a living.
1. Introduction

It had started out as a way to make money. No decent jobs in South Park were hiring, especially not to a foreigner, and he had no way of traveling to any of the neighboring towns; he didn't own a vehicle and couldn't afford to spend money, even a few coins, on bus fair twice a day. He needed every bit of his money to pay for his rent, bills, and the little amount of food that he bought. He was almost eighteen; soon enough he would no longer be considered a ward of the state, and he would have to pay his own way—so he took the only job left to him.

Prostitution had never been something that he had considered for himself when he was a child. It was a shameful way to make a living, and he was sure that his parents, bless their souls, were rolling around in their graves. When he lived in Britain, he had planned on becoming a simple black smith; he was, after all, a black smith's apprentice. After moving to the states, his goals became higher; a doctor would be suitable, he had thought, since he enjoyed helping people. His dreams no longer mattered though; his grades were good, but they weren't good enough for a scholarship, and there was no way that he could afford medical school on his own.

Despite the future weighing heavily on his mind, Pip still found ways to keep himself cheerful. He had always been an optimist, and he managed to find a few bright sides to his career choice—the first—and obvious—choice being the money. Because he had no pimp, it made finding johns a bit harder, but it also helped him—he didn't have to share his income with anyone.

The second sunny spot in the dark cloud that he called work was something that he was truly ashamed of; he _enjoyed_ it. He had started out fearing what he had to do, dreading it more than he had ever dreaded anything else in his life. He'd lie awake at night and picture faceless men standing over him, defiling him, _dirtying _him, hurting him. His first time didn't go _quite _the way that he had pictured it, thank Heavens, but because it went so well, he craved _more _of it—which, he supposed, was a good thing since he'd have to do it so often in the future.

It wasn't so much the sex that he craved—though he feared the situation as a whole, despite it not actually _being_ about the sex, was making him an addict—as it was the contact gained during the act. He knew that he was pathetic. He knew that being lonely was no excuse to enjoy whoring yourself out.

Phillip Pirrup was attention starved though—he couldn't even remember the last time that he had been hugged, though he supposed it had been by Joe or his parents—and if he made money while making the ache in his chest go away—if he could make the loneliness eating away at him every _single _day go away—for even a little bit, he would do it. He just had to keep being cheerful, remember that he was doing what he had to do, and hope that someone would save him like Julia Roberts was saved in that "Pretty Woman" movie that he once saw.

Phillip Pirrup would be the best prostitute that South Park had ever seen. He would make sure of it.


	2. Practice Makes Prostitute

Before deciding against having a pimp, Pip had went to see one—or, more specifically, an _ex _one: Butters. Of course, he hadn't known at the time that Butters had quit the business. The Stotch boy almost even managed to talk him out of it, but in the end Pip couldn't be convinced. Still though, the trip to Butters' house hadn't been a _complete _waste . . .

They were sitting on the Stotch's living room couch when it happened—when Pip got the nudge in the right direction to get over the fear that had been welling up inside of him since his decision to become a prostitute.

"Gee, Pip. I r-really am awful sorry that I'm not a pimp no more."

They were the only two in the house at that moment, thank goodness; if Butters' parents had heard him say that he had once been a pimp, he surely would have been grounded. The silence was making itself known though—the only thing that could be heard other than the two boys was the sound of their clothes rustling every time they they moved—and if the two weren't so oblivious to such things, awkwardness would consume them.

"It's really a-okay, old chap! I'll just be on my way then. Good-day!"

"Wa-wait!"

Pip had made to move off of the couch, but Butters grabbed his arm before he could. He couldn't help but blink; he hadn't been touched by another person in years other than when he was being beaten up or bullied, and the sensation, though foreign to him, was very much welcomed. Unfortunately, Butters withdrew his—very warm and smooth, Pip noted—hand after he realized that the Brit wasn't going anywhere.

"S-sorry about that. It's just that. . . well . ."

Butters was obviously nervous about something; he was twiddling his thumbs and stuttering more than he had in years. Pip, who was usually ignored when he wasn't being picked on, had become used to watching people; years of his classmates making him an unwilling wallflower had caused him to be able to read people well.

"What is it, Leopold? Have you changed your mind? I assure you, it's really all right. I don't want to cause you any trouble."

Leopold, how he loved that name. He often wondered—because people who only have their thoughts to keep themselves company wonder about all sorts of things, he knew—if he didn't go by his biological name because of how unpopular he was. If so, it made him like the boy even more—after all, they would have that in common. _'My name is Phillip, but everyone calls me Pip because they hate me.'_

"Oh, no! By golly, no-nothin' like that . . Well, Pip, I was just th-thinkin' that the le-least I could do is l-let you pr-practice on me! I'd p-pay you and everything!"

Butters had stuttered so many times that it took Pip a minute or so to figure out what he was saying—and then it took another minute to sort out what he _meant;_ it wasn't that Pip didn't understand the concept—he was just having trouble _believing_ it. It wasn't every day that someone offered to practice having sex with him, after all. He decided to take it as Butters being a friend—though they hadn't really been friends in years, not since they stopped playing Charlie's Angels together—instead of the boy offering to be his first john.

If his mind wasn't still trying to wrap around the conversation at hand, he would wonder if he was becoming an owl what with the way that he was blinking so much that night. As it was, he had better things to think on than birds.

"That'd be terrific of you! But are you sure?"

He really didn't want to be a bother. He feared people hating him more than almost anything. Butters seemed genuinely happy to do it though, so he was going to try not to worry about it _too _much. Still though, it was better to ask and make sure before they started to actually _do _something only to have Butters freak out halfway into it.

"You bet! We used to be f-friends, after all, and you've always been n-nice to me! I'd love to help ya, even if you _are_ French!"

Pip could feel his eyebrow twitch; after years of living in South Park, the residents of the town _still _couldn't remember that he wasn't French—though he doubted that their memory was the problem. No, they more than likely had just ignored every single correction on the subject that he had ever made. He wasn't going to say anything though, not this time; he wasn't going to let it bother him. He would make sure to remind Butters that he was British after their deed had been done, but until then . .

Pip slowly began to smile. Until that moment, he had been afraid—afraid of the faceless johns that he thought about every night before bed. Butters was familiar and kind though; Butters would make an excellent first time.

"I think I'd like that, Leopold. Very much so."

B/P/B/P

Because he had once been a pimp, Pip had assumed that Butters would know what to do. They had moved to the boy's room and were now sitting on his bed facing each other, but neither made a move to touch the other. Pip was uncertain; he knew that as a prostitute, he would have to get used to things that weren't exactly—oh, what was the American term for it?—vanilla. He was a virgin though, and he was nervous. Sleeping with Butters was supposed to be his starting point, the thing that would get him used to having his body touched. Despite his nervousness though, he had never been one to shy away from another person; he had always wanted their company too much for that. He wasn't going to start now, not when it was so important.

"I'd wager we'd best be getting started."

That seemed to be all it took to get Butters out of whatever trance he had been in before; instead of twiddling his thumbs and looking around the room like it was going to help him know what to do, he jumped a bit, blinking, as if a sudden burst of life had entered him.

_Glad to see I'm not the only fellow resembling an owl tonight._

"W-well, I suppose you're right. The quicker we get this d-done and over with, the less of a chance my parents will come home and catch us in the a-act! That'd just be h-horrible! They'd say to me 'Butters! You know you're not supposed to be kissing other boys!' and then they'd _ground_ me! We better st-start right away!"

With that final scream, Leopold "Butters" Stotch leaned forward and gave Pip his first kiss as a prostitute—right on the cheek. It came as a surprise to the British boy, and Butters' next words didn't stop him from blinking:

"There! Now it's your turn!"

Pip brought his hand—equally as smooth as Butters', despite him having been a black smith's apprentice as a child—to rest over the spot where he had been kissed. Butters' lips had been warm and soft, very unlike how he had imagined a boy's mouth to feel like, but he definitely wasn't going to complain. Finding he quite liked the sensation, he returned it; his lips pressed against Butters' cheek, but the short-haired blond turned his face upwards the tiniest bit so the corner of his lips were pressed against Pip's. Now feeling bold and knowing that he would have to get used to the feeling of lips against his own soon enough, Pip pressed on.

They were kissing—_really_ kissing. It was slower and softer than what Pip knew he would have to get used to, but he couldn't bring himself to speed it up. It felt absolutely _amazing _to the British boy—to _both _boys, though he had no way of knowing how Butters felt about it yet—and even though it was a closed-mouth kiss, he couldn't imagine it being able to get any better. He was wrong.

At some point during the kiss—he honestly wasn't sure when—they had laid back on the bed. Their hands still remained resting on the other's face—he couldn't recall moving his hands to Butters' face either, though he had realized the exact moment that the other boy had touched his—and there were only a few inches separating them. Blue eyes met blue eyes after their kiss ended and they stared at each other, neither daring to move yet.

Their spell had to be eventually broken though.

"Is it always like this?"

Pip wasn't sure how he had imagined his first time to be like, but it definitely wasn't like _this. _He had known for years that he preferred boys to girls, but he had never imagined that his first time would be with someone almost as feminine as himself. Still though, that wasn't what he meant; his first time with a john was, at least so far, going rather sweetly. Butters wasn't rushing him—it seemed that the boy had completely forgotten about his parents—and he was actually enjoying himself.

"I don't k-know. Whenever me and Eric sucked on each other's wieners, we didn't k-kiss."

Leopold, Pip would later decide, was a confusing fellow. He could admit to sucking on Eric Cartman's weiner—Pip didn't like the word for it, but what did one _call _the thing without coming across as rude?—but had trouble saying the word "kiss" without stuttering, it seemed. At the moment, however, he was too shocked to consider Butters' strange habits.

"You and the Eric Cartman boy put each other in your _mouth_?"

He didn't mean to sound judgemental—honestly, a prostitute being such a thing was redicilous—but Butters didn't seem to take offense to the question either way, thank goodness; he didn't want to upset the boy in the hopes that they could be friends again, like when they were small children.

"Oh yeah! Here, let me s-show you!"

Without any more warning than that, Butters used his hand to push at Pip's shoulder; still shocked from the earlier revaluation, the boy rolled over onto his back without fully processing what was about to happen. Blimey, Eric Cartman of all people . . Though it made sense, he supposed; Butters DID seem to enjoy the rather large boy's company.

While his brain was working out the newly-learned Butters-Eric situation, the blond boy in question climbed on top of him. Bringing him out of his thoughts, Butters began to kiss him once again; this time it was deeper and his fingers ran through Pip's hair, making the Brit realize for the first time that his hat had been pulled off at some point during their earlier kiss. This kiss didn't last nearly as long as the first one did; Butters broke it and moved down until he was resting between legs that Pip didn't remember spreading, his hands on the thinner boy's hips, his face level with his stomach.

"Don't worry! I think you'll l-like it!"

One of Butters' hands moved from Pip's hip to the zipper of his shorts. Without asking for permission, he began to pull the metal contraption down; the sound was enough to make Pip realize the full enormity of the situation.

"Leopold, what in Heaven are you—"

A moan, one that he had no control over at all, cut his sentence short though. Butters had taken his dick out of his shorts and his hand, oh so very warm, was slowly pumping it. Not bothering to answer the question that Pip had never finished asking, Butters brought his head down to the tip of Pip's dick, taking it into his mouth and sucking. Pip, still remembering to be at least a little bit of a gentlemen despite the circumstances, brought his hands down to grip the covers beneath him instead of pushing the boy's head further down.

"Leopold . . ."

He couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence; he couldn't stop the moans from tumbling out of his mouth long enough to do so. Despite how little of his prick was actually in the boy's mouth, it was his first blowjob, and to him it felt incredible. Butters made no move to take any more of Pip's member into his wet mouth, but he was still sucking on the tip—though it was much lighter than Pip would have liked—and there was a hand was rubbing his balls.

Eventually though, Butters _did_ take more of Pip's dick into his mouth. He managed to get half of it into his throat without gagging, a feat that would have put Pip in awe if he wasn't so lost to his lust, but it wasn't until he stopped sucking on _it _and start sucking on his balls that Pip felt pressure build up; he was cumming.

"Leopold, stop! I'm going to—ah!"

He hadn't meant to be so loud. He hadn't meant to cum so early either, but it _was_ his first time—still, it seemed to him like it had lasted an eternity. And he definitely hadn't meant to cum on Butters' face.

It took a minute for the aftershock to wear off; he was in quite the daze. Eventually though, he came back to himself—only to be horrified when he propped himself up on his elbows to look down at Butters. Why, the boy was covered in white! He was appalled with himself.

"Heavens, Leopold! I really must apologize, I really didn't mean to finish quite that way!"

Butters didn't seem to mind at all, but that didn't make Pip relax much. The blond was smiling at him, cleaning his face off with a tissue from a box resting on the nightstand by his bed, and Pip had the sudden urge to try the stuff covering him.

"It's all right, Pip. Eric did the s-same thing to me, only I think he did it on pur-purpose. You b-best be goin' though. My pa-parents will be home soon."

Wasn't it the prostitute's job to get the john off? Not the other way around? He clearly needed more practice. Still though, it would be a lie to say that he hadn't enjoyed himself. Maybe he should be the one to pay . .

"Leopold, about my payment—"

He was interrupted when Butters began to ruffle around inside of his desk in search of something; he finally pulled out an old looking piggy bank, and from inside of it he took out a set of bills.

"Here you go!"

Butters had gotten all of the cum off of his face, and Pip regretted not trying it. Maybe the next time he was with someone . . .

The Stotch boy handed him the money—a ten and a twenty. It wasn't as much as he had expected from his first time, but since he didn't actually get Butters off, he wasn't going to complain about it.

"Thank you very much, old chap. Are you sure though?"

Butters, without being prompted to even do so, tucked Pip's dick back into his shorts; the boy really was a sweetheart. He was buttoning them up when he spoke again, the smile still on his face.

"By golly, I'm sure! You deserved it! I can't wait until n-next time!"

And there would _be _a next time. Pip had no idea how sex-crazed Butters could be; he hadn't been around him during the whole "Lord of the Rings" sex tape incident. He also hadn't been around the boy during the whole Raisins incident, so he had no way of knowing how giving the boy could be when he liked someone. Of course, Pip had no way of knowing how much Butters would grow to like him, or that he had found a loyal client.

No, Pip just knew that his first time hadn't been bad at all and that he had made money.

Phillip Pirrup was, for the first time in years, happy.


	3. Bathroom BJ

After years of having his head pushed into toilets, Pip had made it a habit to wait to use the bathroom until during class. It was the best way to avoid bullies since the restrooms were less crowded while class was going on than during break or lunch. As long as he didn't do it too often, the majority of his teachers didn't mind letting him out to go, and he usually waited until English rolled around anyway; the class was reading "Great Expectations," and having read (and loved) it as a child, he felt like he wasn't going to miss out on anything vital.

The South Park High bathroom was where he met his first real customer (he wasn't counting Butters since he had just been practice, and Pip hadn't had to do anything to him anyway).

Kevin Stoley had a problem—a large one that was hard to take care of. Almost every single day after gym class, he would get an erection. He would be in the locker room, ready to shower with the other boys, and up it would come. Personally, he blamed it on Tweek Tweak's firm ass and long legs, or maybe it had been Clyde Donovan's—he stopped himself. He was already rushing into the boy's bathroom instead of showering like he was supposed to be doing to calm himself down. Thinking about Tweek or Clyde really wasn't going to help him accomplish his goal, and it was best to stop himself before he started to think about Craig's dark hair matting against his neck when the water hit it or the patch of hair on Token's—dammit. He really needed to get himself under control. Tucker's group was _hot_ though, and he couldn't help but curse his fate that he couldn't have gotten gym class with Stan Marsh's little group of unattractive friends. Marsh himself was the onl_—dammit._

He was quickly becoming frustrated.

Later, because he believed in such things, he would decide that it was fate that caused his face to meet a bathroom stall's door. In the mean time, he was too busy covering his forehead, his vision swimming, to even get off the floor. Be it fate or coincidence, Philip Pirrup had just rammed a door against his face. It was an accident, of course; the boy didn't even have it in him to hurt a fly. They were bound to run into each other eventually, though not necessarily literally; they did, after all, target the same bathroom during the same block. Maybe it _was_ fate.

"Oh, Heavens! Are you all right?"

Pip, after realizing what had happened, crouched down by the injured boy. He felt terribly guilty and, hoping that Kevin would allow him to somehow make it up to him, his hands went to the boy's arm and knee. It was subconcious—he was just making sure that he wasn't horribly hurt—and neither of them noticed it.

"Are you the doctor?"

Pip was momentarily stunned. He hadn't hit the boy _that _hard—he hoped—and he knew that the other kids in the class thought of Kevin as a dork because of his science fiction (mainly Star Wars) obsession, so maybe the boy was making a reference to . . .

"Oh, goodness me, no! I've just come from an ordinary bathroom stall, not a time machine."

It was unlikely, of course, that Kevin _had_ been making a Doctor Who reference. The boy was disoriented—though Pip's comment had him blinking and coming back into focus—and had been close up on the door when it swung open, thus getting hit harder than Pip realized. Besides, it would be stereotypical for him to assume that the school's British kid (how did no one else realize that the boy wasn't French?) liked a British show.

But Pip _did _like Dr. Who and _had _made a reference to it, even though that wasn't what Kevin had been talking about, and suddenly he didn't feel so bad.

After blinking a few more times—did someone honestly just say that?—he laughed; the kid who barely talked to anyone _laughed_ at something that the kid everyone hated (minus one certain Stotch boy) said. The action made him nausas—he felt dizzy—and his head fell, resting on Pip's shoulder.

"There, there. It'll be okay. We'll get you to the nurse, and then you'll feel better in no time!"

Pip's raised voice made him wince—the dizziness was fading, but his head was starting to pound—and he drew his face closer to Pip's neck; his nose was pressed against soft skin, and try as he might, his addled mind couldn't work out what the scent Pip's hair had to it was. Pip's hands, one still on his arm, the other on his knee, were rubbing soothingly, and it was then that Kevin realized he was as hard as he had been entering the bathroom—even harder! He swallowed the bile quickly rising in his throat and hoped that Pip didn't notice the reaction he was causing him to have—but Kevin's luck had been worth shit lately, so surely enough the lithe boy did.

"Kevin, old chap . . . If you want, I could take care of that for you?"

His face was red. Was someone he never even bothered to talk to, a boy no less, really offering to...? In a public bathroom, of all places? He shouldn't agree to it, he knew. He really shouldn't agree to it. There could be a catch, it could be a joke, Pip could have something . . .

"S-sure."

God, he really hated his voice. It had never been as nasally as it was in that moment. He couldn't help it though; it got worse if he was excited, and . . . well, how often did a guy get a chance like _this_? Catch or no catch, joke or no joke, STD or no STD (this one seemed extreme to him, but, really, what could you catch just from a hand—or, he didn't dare to hope—blow job?), he was going for it. If he just kept his mouth shut, which he would have to do anyway so no one would catch them, things would be fine. The way he saw it, Lady Luck owed him big time lately anyway.

He exhaled; he couldn't recall holding his breath, but it had probably been while he was trying to make his decision. Not only did Pip's hair smell sweet, he realized, but so did the boy's skin. His head was cleared and the ache in his head was leaving, but he still had to concentrate to realize what it was: a mix of peppermint, some type of bread, oranges, and tea. It was both repulsive—probably because of the bread and tea, he decided—and enticing at the same time. He inhaled.

He could feel the hand on his knee slide down to his thigh—not close enough to his crotch to cause it to touch, but not far away enough that his thoughts weren't racing—and he had to swallow. The hand that had been rubbing his arm moved to the back of his neck. If it was possible, he pressed his face closer to Pip's neck. His jeans tightened.

Pip was feeling more brave than anything else. He was with his first _real _client, and even if they _were_ at school, he wasn't going to worry. When it came to socializing, Pip rarely ever _did _worry, unless it was about what the other children thought of him; if he could look his tormentors in the face and smile, he could certainly handle a positive touch.

"Shouldn't we . . you know . . move into a stall?"

Despite being comfortable—he was pressed against warm, scented skin and it was enough to distract him from the fact that his ass was starting to hurt from sitting on the hard (and cold) floor—he felt the need to move; not only was there the very real chance of someone walking in on them sitting there like that, but his jeans were becoming more uncomfortable as the minuted ticked by.

"Oh, yes. I'd imagine you're right."

Pip, bracing himself against Kevin's knee and the nearby stall, broke their skin-to-skin contact by standing; Kevin's face was now cold, but he still hoped that he wasn't blushing anymore. The contact wasn't broken for long though; after standing, the Brit held his hands out to help Kevin up. The dark-haired boy took it, his one hand covered by both of Pip's, and pushed himself up, doing most of the work himself since the boy trying to help him could barely handle his weight. It was in those small moments that Kevin actually noticed the boys hands: long fingers that were much thinner than his own, smooth skin, fragile. But then the world tilted, the dizziness coming back. He almost toppled the smaller boy with all of his weight now leaning on him.

"Oh dear. I hope you're not too terribly off. I feel awful."

Pip dropped him on the toilet seat as gently as he could; they were in the stall the blond boy had been exiting and Kevin had been trying to enter. In his confusion—things were swimming again—he deemed it _their _stall.

He rested his head against the wall behind him, trying not to think about how unsanitary he was being; his mother would be so ashamed. His eyes, brown unlike the ones belonging to the other boy in the stall, slid closed. He gave the nausea and dizziness a moment to pass before opening them—to see Pip kneeling in front of him. Like before, after the initial sickness passed, his head was starting to feel like it was about to split open. Instead of the pain, he focused on the blue eyes—blue had always been his favorite color—in front of him.

They were gorgeous, he decided. They were light and hap—and Kevin couldn't focus on the Brit's eyes anymore after that because he was too distracted by the fingers tugging down the zipper on his jeans. His headache started back up, worse than it had been before, and he allowed his eyes to close; really, he should be in the nurse's office instead of—but then Pip pulled his dick out of his pants, and even though it was clumsy, he decided that the nurse could fuck off. His eyes opened, though they stayed slanted, and he watched with fascination and Pip tugged on his dick.

Despite the pain it caused him to move around—maybe he had a concussion?—he couldn't help but squirm. The boy had only tugged on him twice, but it was . . . He didn't have words for it. It was far better than Star Wars, and Pip seemed to be enjoying himself as well; he was watching Kevin's reactions intently, as if studying him, and each squirm made the boy's smile widen.

Kevin had gasped when Pip had taken him out. He had gasped with each tug. But when Pip finally started to _jerk_ without pause, he had to cover his mouth; it wouldn't be good to let someone hear his moans. When the blond started to slow down, he had to keep the hand on his mouth to keep a groan from escaping. And when Pip finally lowered his head down to his crotch, Kevin had to bite his lip to keep from moaning so loudly that the kids a few rooms over could hear.

Kevin Stoley was apparently very vocal when it came to sex.

Pip was sucking on the tip, trying to mimic what Butters had did to him. Deciding that it would be safe to lower one of his hands, Kevin pulled the boy's hat off, resting it on his thigh. His legs were spread, his shirt pushed up, and his head still rested against the wall. His free hand, the one that had pulled Pip's hat off, went to rest on the boy's head; his fingers ran through locks of hair. Allowing his palm to rest on the back of Pip's head, he gently pushed it down. Getting the hint, the boy began to slowly bob his head up and down.

Lady Luck had decided to bless him after all. After a few more minutes of this—it was embarrassing how much time it didn't take for him to finish, but he _was _a virgin—Kevin could feel his orgasm hitting. Pushing at Pip's shoulders, he tried to warn him; it was too late though, and before the blond boy realized what was happening, cum was shooting down his throat.

"Blimey!"

Pip was choking, and for that Kevin felt horrible. He moved off of the toilet lid to crouch beside the Brit, rubbing his back while Pip spit up what he didn't accidentally swallow of Kevin's cum into the bowl.

"Thank you, Kevin. I—"

They both froze though; someone was opening the bathroom door. Brown eyes met blue and they watched each other, horrified, as someone went into the stall next to theirs.

"—damn KFC, always doing this to me—AAAH!"

Eric Cartman—who, by the sound of it, had explosive diarrhea. Lady Luck hated him after all, it seemed. The smell was horrible—everything about the boy was horrible—and as soundlessly as possible, Pip scooted closer to Kevin. Without seeming the least bit awkward—really, was the boy never shy?—the blond rested his head against Kevin's shoulder in an attempt to shake off the smell a bit. Figuring it couldn't hurt, Kevin rested his face against Pip's neck once more, and they sat there for longer than either of them would like to think about listening to Eric Cartman shit.

The bell rang before the boy was done using the bathroom, but neither Kevin nor Pip moved to go to class; it'd be suicide to do so, since there was no way that Cartman would let them get away with listening to him in such an uncomfortable situation. By the time he was gone, it was already late into their next block, so there was no rush; they were going to be late either way, and they had probably already missed half of the lesson.

"That was lovely."

Kevin decided that it was safe to assume Pip meant the blowjob and not Cartman shitting up a storm. He nodded in agreement, blushing; it was flattering, really, that someone had sucked him off and found it 'lovely.'

They were still curled up together, though they had no actual reason to be doing so. It felt nice though, and neither boy was going to complain. Remembering that he had appreciated it when Butters had done it for him, Pip had tucked Kevin back into his jeans and zipped and buttoned him back up. He was trying to think of the politest way of asking for money when Kevin did something unexpected—the boy kissed his neck.

The dark-haired boy pulled back from him and, despite how uncomfortable he looked, met his eyes.

"I'm, uh, going to have a Star Wars marathon tomorrow. You can stop by my house and watch with me if you want."

Pip could feel his mouth open. A friend. He had made a friend. He began to grin—the first time in years he had actually _grinned—_and his arms went around Kevin's shoulders faster than the boy could realize what was going on.

"I'd love to! That sounds oh-so wonderful!"

By the time they separated from each other—they had stayed in the stall for a few more minutes, hugging—Pip realized that he hadn't charged Kevin. Deciding that it was rude to charge one's friend anyway, he decided to let it go. A friend was worth far more than money was, he had always thought.

Butters had been the one to give Pip his final push into prostitution, but Kevin Stoley was the boy who made Pip crave _touch _more than money. Without realizing what he was doing, he set off an addiction. Of course, Pip didn't realize it either, not yet.

He also didn't realize that he had agreed to go on a date.


	4. First Three Dates

He wasn't entirely sure what he had been expecting. He hadn't had a friend since Damien's visit years before, and they hadn't exactly been close—though Damien had been, admittedly, the first boy that he had ever had a crush on. He often imagined spending time with his peers; he saw them every day, and he was terribly lonely, so it was to be expected. He'd dream of having tea with them, of talking to them about home and sharing memories past. They were just daydreams though, and they were nothing like the real thing—no, the real thing involved sitting very quietly on an unfamiliar couch while his friend (surely that's what they were) filled him in on everything Star Wars related.

"—and that's why they're the best movies in history."

By the time Kevin finished his rant—to call it anything _other_ than a rant would be a lie—they only had time to finish one of the movies, and then it was time for dinner.

"I'll just be going then."

Though he wanted to stay for dinner (he was curious to see what an American dinner was like, even if Kevin's mother—he hadn't seen his father_—was_ Asian), he was far too polite to assume that he was invited. Kevin, whose mother was unused to him bringing guests home, made no objections, and walked him to the door.

They stood there for a moment in silence, both waiting for something, though neither knew what. It was when Pip finally said his goodbyes and reached for the doorknob that Kevin said something—to wait. He glanced around—he wouldn't put it past his mother to spy—and, after deciding that it was safe, he placed his hands on Pip's shoulders. The smaller boy stared up at him, smiling, curious, trusting. Kevin couldn't understand how anyone could be trusting of someone they barely knew, especially Pip, who he had seen bullied for years, and it made him want to kiss him even more than he already did—so he _did_. He had wanted to all evening, and he wasn't going to miss his last chance to do so.

They stood there kissing for a moment before Kevin pulled away; as much as he wanted to kiss Pip, his mother was still lurking around somewhere. He would have to take the boy into his room someday. Or into the basement. Or his bathroom. Or anywhere that had a flat sur—his hormones were still giving him trouble.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Fuck, he hated his voice. If it was always going to get this nasally after kissing someone—again, excitement did that to him—he was fucked. Luckily for him, Pip didn't seem to mind it.

"Right-O."

And after that—and a quick kiss on his cheek from the petite boy—Phillip Pirrup was gone.

K/P/K/P

Their second date (Pip still didn't realize that's what they were) only had one significant difference.

They were still in Kevin's living room. The boy had a television in his own room, but it wasn't as big as the one in the living room, so they were sitting on the Stoley's couch again. Pip didn't mind—he was watching a film with a friend; he could have been sitting on a bed of fire, and he wouldn't have minded.

It was during the middle of the movie that Kevin took Pip's hand in his own and laced their fingers together.

"Oh, but Kevin, won't your mother mind?"

Kevin was sure that she would.

"Yeah. She's doing laundry though. She'll be busy for a while. We're safe."

For almost an hour, they held hands.

K/P/K/P

Their third date (Pip was still clueless) was the most memorable. Like the previous times Pip had visited Kevin's house, they were sitting on the Stoley's couch. It was sometime during the third movie that the blond fell asleep; he had been up far too late the night before trying to figure out how to find customers, and it had wore him out. Upon waking, his first thought was that he had probably offended his friend by falling asleep during one of his favorite movies. Apologizes flew out of his head for the time being though when he realized that he wasn't laying on the couch or a pillow; he was laying on _Kevin. _

He shot up so quickly that he almost fell off of the couch; he would have if it wasn't for the blue-clad arm that reached out and grabbed him.

"Oh, goodness me! I'm terribly sorry!"

He would have continued apologizing if it wasn't for the fact that the boy was _smiling _at him of all things. He had been beaten before for falling asleep on other children during bus rides, but Kevin Stoley was smiling at him over it. Perhaps he had said something funny in his sleep? Or farted? He had been taught that the later of the two was very impolite, and he found himself apologizing once more.

"I really am terribly sorry."

He glanced at the television screen hoping that maybe he had only been asleep for a few minutes, maybe he hadn't missed much of the movie. His hopes were quickly dashed though; the movie was off and, oddly enough, some type of talking yellow sponge was on.

Kevin Stoley was watching cartoons.

"It's okay."

Pip was distracted from the television show—really, a sponge? Didn't most children watch farting Canadians?—when arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him back to Kevin's side.

"Kevin? Won't your mother—"

"My mom went to bed about an hour ago. Besides . . . ."

Fingers were in his hair.

"We talked about you yesterday, and . . ."

A hand was resting on his hip.

"She thinks you're a girl."

He wasn't surprised—he had been mistaken for a girl before. It was the time that he was worried about; if Mrs. Stoley had already gone to bed, then it had to be late. He was going to have to walk back home in the dark, and it was terribly dang—but oh, Kevin was kissing his neck, and Pip couldn't find it in his heart to care anymore.

Kevin Stoley was making his addiction for skin-to-skin contact worse with each date that they shared.


	5. Tips & Choices

It was during gym class that Pip got his first official customer. It was ironic considering gym was the very reason that Kevin had gotten laid, but Pip didn't know that piece of information, and he had more important things than irony on his mind—Kenny McCormick, for example.

He had made it a habit over the years to make sure that he was alone in the lockerroom while he changed. He'd normally look over the children's cruelness, but they had always been harsher than normal when it came to the lockerroom. He supposed it was because he was gay; he had never openly admitted this fact, but the student body as a whole seemed to believe it was so, and he had never bothered denying it to any of them. He had learned early on that it was unsafe to be in the lockerroom while the other children were using it, and he had _thought_ that he was alone. That was when Kenny McCormick made himself known.

Pip, unaware that he wasn't alone, had his back to the door. He was facing his locker, unbuttoning the top buttons of his jacket, when arms wrapped around his waist from behind. He went stiff from surprise, his bright eyes going wide. Lips were being pressed against the back of his neck and . . . good Heavens, someone was groping at his behind!

"How much?"

Instead of struggling like anyone else would have done—he was a _prostitute_, which was something most people weren't, and being a prostitute meant that he would have to get used to unfamiliar touches—he tried to relax his body. Being tense would not do. After he calmed down a bit—really, he didn't _mind_ the touching; it had just took him by surprise—he tried to focus. He knew the voice, if only he could place it . . .

"Oh! In here, Kenneth? But what if we get caught?"

Normally it wouldn't have taken as long as it did to recognize a student's voice; Pip had, after all, grown up around them. Kenny was an exception though; even after years had passed, the boy still kept his face covered with his parka. Hearing his voice clearly was a rare thing. They were in the lockerroom though, and people _changed _in the lockerroom, so Pip didn't think too much about it.

"Getting caught is half the fun."

_'Well . . . I should always be prepared to give the customer what they want.'_

All the while, Kenny was still groping at him. It was a strange sensation; Butters had touched him in an extremely private area and he had already gotten used to being pressed against Kevin, but no one had ever touched his ass before. He quite liked it, he decided.

Before he knew what was happening, the hands on his ass were on his shoulders, turning him around to face the body that had been behind him. A mouth was covering his; though he had never tried them himself, he knew that Kenny's lips tasted like cigarettes. Feminine hands instinctively went to Kenny's shoulders, and through the haze of the kiss, Pip realized how malnourished the boy really was. He broke the kiss to pull back a bit, panting, and looked his acquaintance over.

_'He's thinner than me, poor lad. He's not bad looking, though he really is on the scrawny side. But who am I to complain? Still, I simply must invite him over for tea and crumpets sometime.'_

As his thoughts raced, one of his hands moved from Kenny's shoulder to his blond, greasy hair. It wasn't ideal to touch, but Pip could look over that fact; he couldn't cringe at a customer, even if their hair was a mess, now could he? He was distracted from how dirty it was anyway; he kept wondering, if Kenny kept dying, why it wasn't longer.

Kenny's hands moved to Pip's hips, and the smaller boy forgot all thoughts involving hair.

"Here's a tip: hair isn't the best place for your hands to be."

Pip's eyes widened once more. Kenneth was known around the school as a bit of a sex god, and if he was willing to share tips, Pip was definitely going to listen.

"Why, thank you! I'll keep that in mind."

Pip was answered with a perverted grin. He watched as Kenny's hands undid his bow tie, letting it fall to the ground. His own hands moved to Kenny's neck and slowly moved down the boy's back and arms. Was this better? He hoped so; he wanted more tips, but he also wanted his instincts to be right. His hat was thrown off, landing somewhere near his bow tie, and his hair was gripped, exposing his neck; it stung, but he wouldn't complain. Things could, after all, be worse. The teeth on his neck also stung, but in an odd way it felt good. He could feel his face start to flush; he had been aroused before, but the teeth scraping against and biting down on his neck were making his trousers tighten even more. It was getting hard to breath, but he looked over it. The locker pressed against his back was keeping him grounded.

"But, Kenneth, I thought that it was best not to focus on hair?"

There was, after all, still a hand griping his hair. Though he wouldn't ask Kenny to remove it, he was still curious as to why it was there in the first place.

"Tip number two: don't question the customer. I wanted to know how thick your hair is. I can't decide between a fuck or a blowjob. Your hair would be good to hold on to, so maybe.."

Oh. Well then, that made perfect sense, didn't it? Maybe what though? What had Kenny decided on? He rather hoped it would be a shag. He didn't think that he'd be up to a blowjob yet.

"Oh my. Thank you, Kenneth. That's a helpful bit of info."

He wasn't sure whether it would be rude or not to ask Kenny what he had decided upon. Probably so, he knew. It would be best not to ask. He would just follow the other boy's lead. That's what a good prostitute did, wasn't it? Yes, he was sure that was right.

At some point during his pondering, Pip's hands had moved to rest on Kenny's sides, above the hips. The taller blond had pressed their bodies together, and his free hand had moved under Pip's shirt. It rested on the lithe boy's stomach, rubbing it. It took quite a bit of self-control not to shiver, and when Kenny's hand moved further up, rubbing across one of his nipples, he couldn't help himself. Of course, the moment Kenny's hand finally touched the skin under Pip's clothes would be when they got busted.

"K-Kenny?"

Kenny's face, which had been buried in Pip's neck, turned to face the newcomer, and his grin grew.

"Wanna join us, Butters?"

_'Oh dear . . ."_

Pip looked between the two boys, and concern came over him. Butters was frowning, and he felt a sudden pang of guilt. Were they sleeping together as well? He really hoped not. It wouldn't do well on his conscious if he had helped them cheat, though Butters really didn't seem the cheating type.

"E-Eric sent me to see what was t-takin' you so l-long."

Butters' stutter, which had improved over the years, came back when he was upset. Pip's pang of guilt grew.

"Just having some fun."

As if nothing unusual had happened, Kenny moved away from Pip and started to change into his gym clothes. Pip decided it was a good time to straighten his clothes back up and put back on his hat and bow tie, while Butters just stood there with his head down, twiddling his thumbs.

"O-oh . . ."

Kenny began to go through someone's school bag—probably Clyde, since the boy could never seem to remember to put it back into his locker—and dug out a pen and pencil. He began to scribble his address down while the other boys stood still, unsure of what to do. When he was done, he handed it to Pip, winking.

"Be there later today, sometime around five. I'll give you more tips."

And with that, and telling Butters that he could join, he was gone.

Pip, deciding that Kenneth was far too nice to actually hit on him in front of Butters if they were dating, realized that that couldn't possibly be the case. Excitement filling him, he stuck the piece of paper into his pocket, momentarily forgetting about the other boy in the room.

_'Oh, jolly me, I have a customer!'_

"I-I sure am s-sorry about that. I was just br-bragin' about you this morning. I gu-guess he wanted to t-try you out for himself."

So Butters had pimped him out after all. He wasn't going to worry about it though; the boy clearly wasn't asking for money, and if it helped him get a client, there was nothing _to _worry about, right?

"No problem, old chap."

"I-if you want, you can come to my h-house instead. My parents won't be h-home today, and we'll have—"

"Butters! Come on!"

The bellow had come from outside of the lockerroom, and though Pip couldn't see the speaker, he could tell by the voice that it was Eric Cartman—and he sounded rather angry. Butters, who had been around the much larger boy far more than Pip himself, knew his temper better than the Brit did, and he looked between the door and the blond. Finally, he decided that Cartman should come first—he would be punished later if not—and he hurried out of the door after his final plead.

"I hope you'll come! You'd have way more fun with me than K-Kenny any old day!"

And with that, Pip was alone, already deciding what to do later that afternoon.


End file.
